She's Not As Fragile As You Think
by mgcutie1213
Summary: Bella moves to Forks as an ex-CIA agent. There she meets Edward. Takes place before she moves, then some of it is during Twlight, and then during New Moon. Rated M, just because I'm being careful.


**Hey guys! Soo..basically this starts off before Bella moves to Forks, and she is not moving because she wants her mom to be happy and travel with Phil, she's moving because….well, you'll see.**

**Also, I just want to say that I kind of got this idea from one of my favorite, yet cancelled, shows, Alias.**

**This chapter is kinda long, actually really long. And kinda drawn out. It may seem boring, but once you understand whats going on it gets better!**

**Hope you enjoy it!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything, all of Twilight belongs to Stephanie Meyer. And also, I do not own anything relating to Alias either**.

**BPOV**

I hated this. I hated me for leaving them, but I hated them for causing everything. I hated this.

I was sitting in my room, with my bags all packed, and tears rolling down my cheeks. I felt so _guilty. _I mean, I know they need me, I know they do. It's just that staying with them, staying in this sick twisted mess of..of _shit_ of a life, was killing me. Literally ripping me apart, from the inside out. And that's why I was leaving.

That thought took me back to when I was seven. The memories were vague, but they were there. I remember sitting in the park playing in the sand, my mom watching me from a bench a few yards away. Out of nowhere, this man in a nice business suit and sunglasses approaches me. At first he stood there watching me, and being a kid, I thought nothing of it. But my mom did. She came over and asked the man what he was doing, and that she would like him to get away from her child. And I remember his next words very distinctly.

"I'm sorry ma'am; I don't want to cause trouble. You see, I'm doing research for the University of Arizona about how kid's playing habits affect their intelligence, and your daughter seemed like the perfect candidate, that's all."

"Oh?" my mother said, obviously suspicious.

"Yes, here. I have a business card to prove it." He laughed quietly while handing my mother the card. "I realize that you must be a little unsure, considering the fact that I just looked like a pedophile. I didn't mean to be so creepy." He gave another laugh.

My mother looked at the card, and was put at ease. It must have looked legit. They began to make small talk about his work, and about me, and eventually, my mother had scheduled an appointment for me so that they could do research on me. That was when it started.

The next day she took me to a big white office building. I looked around the inside with wonder. It was all so light and pristine. Kind of like the Apple Stores you see in big malls. We met the man from the park in the waiting room, and he took us up to a big office.

"I'm glad you came. Now, we have some business to get down to, and some things you should know."

My mother nodded.

The man cleared his throat, and he seemed uneasy. "First of all, you should know that I, and no one in this office, works for the University of Arizona." He hesitated. "We work for the CIA."

My mother froze, then laughed as she said, "…What?"

"I'm sorry ma'am but that is all I can tell you about my work, the rest is confidential until you sign these papers."

That sobered her up. Her face turned bright red. "WHOA. I am not signing SHIT until you tell what the HELL is going on."

I had never heard my mom talk like that. It scared me.

"Ma'am please calm down. I am Mr. Woods, I work for the CIA. Now unfortunately, I cannot reveal any more information to you until you sign this confidentiality contract."

"And how do you expect me to believe that you work for the CIA? And why would the CIA want to meet with me and my daughter?" my mother said loudly and cuttingly.

The man sighed, opened up a drawer on the left-hand side of his desk, then pulled out a thick stack of papers. He laid them in front of my mother. The top page of the papers was stamped "confidential," and had a picture. It was a blue circle with some long words written around the edges. In the middle was an eagle's head, but its body was blocked by what looked like a white piece of cloth, or something to that effect, with a red star in the middle. My mom gasped.

"This still isn't enough proof. You could have made this on a computer for Christ sake," my mother said quietly, but not as strongly.

"Yes. I could have. And I'm glad that you are smart enough to realize that. So, here is something else to prove it to you." He reached into his coat and pulled out what looked like a driver's license. He handed it to my mother.

She inspected it, and by craning my head, I looked at it too. It was white and hard plastic, with that shiny tint that you find on a driver's license. It had a picture of the man with his name and loads of information about him. However, instead of having that symbol of a state that appears when you tilt a driver's license the right way, it had the same symbol that was on the cover of the stack of papers that were still sitting in front of my mother.

Little did I know that I would have one of those for my own.

My mother looked at him with wide-eyes. "Okay. Well this is obviously real. But why would the CIA be interested in my daughter?"

"Excellent question," the man answered, "But again, I cannot reveal any more information until you sign this confidentiality contract. Under federal law, after you sign these, you cannot reveal any of the information following to anyone, besides your husband whom you currently live with."

My mother looked at the papers sitting in front of her. She lifted the cover with the strange symbol, and began to read. It took her a few minutes before she said, "Pen," and the man handed he a dark red colored ball point pen. She signed what must have been at least a dozen times, then handed the pen and papers back to the man.

He smiled. "Thank you. Now. The load of information I'm going to give you is going to be shocking, but I must have you know that your daughter is a very special child, especially when it comes to the Central Intelligence Agency." He paused, and my mother's face must have been reassuring, because with a single nod he continued. "Okay. A year ago, the CIA started a black-ops operation entitled Project Christmas. This is an operation in which the CIA trains children from the ages 6-17 to be CIA field agents. We have certain ways of determining for each age group who would be good agents, and for your daughter's age group, that way was the sand-box. You see, the CIA placed a certain type of toy blocks in the sand box of the most visited park in all of the cities in which there are CIA bases. Those toys for the base in Phoenix were placed in the sand box of the park that you were at yesterday. After many years of research, the CIA has found that only the most talented agents, or the agents with the most potential, are able to put those blocks together. It has to do with the way the blocks are shaped and arranged, and the way the agents' minds work."

He paused hesitantly, then said quietly, "Your daughter put those blocks together."

My mother was silent and still for a long moment. Then she whispered, "So, you're telling me that my daughter – should be a CIA agent?"

"Well, yes," he said anxiously, "But, we're also asking. Would you allow her to be a part of Project Christmas?"

Again, my mother was still. I could literally feel the tension coming off her in waves.

Then, she exploded.

"ARE YOU INSANE??!! SHE IS SEVEN YEARS OLD, AND BARELY THAT! YOU PEOPLE ARE CRAZY – WHAT IS ALL THIS?! YOU CAN'T TRAIN A SEVEN YEAR OLD LITTLE GIRL TO WORK FOR THE CIA! I'TS DANGEROUS! NOT TO MENTION COMPLETELY MENTAL! WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?! I bet this isn't even real is it? I bet I'm on some prank show, or some show about bad mothers who allow their daughters to be in dangerous situations, aren't I? AREN'T I?!" Her voice was echoing off the walls, I can still hear it echoing in my head. Her face was blood red now, and her eyes were almost popping out of her head. The sight gave me chills.

"Please, calm down, I realize that this is all very hard to handle, not to mention hard to believe. But really it is better than it sounds. We have spent years perfecting this program to make it as safe as possible. Please, just listen to what I have to say, then you can make your decision," the man stated in what was supposed to be a soothing voice, but it obviously didn't sooth my mother. She waited, arms crossed and legs crossed so tight that I wouldn't have been surprised if her blood circulation was cut off.

The man started talking and he lost me. He kept using all these big words that I could not understand. Of course I understand them now. I understand all of them now. And I hated that.

How, HOW could my mother agree to something so..crazy? After that day, somehow – though I have no idea how – somehow, they must have convinced her that I was destined to be in the CIA, because the next day, my mom and Phil went out to meet the man. They sent me to my neighbor's house while they were away. While they were away, I thought of what had went on the day before, tried to make sense of it. Really, I didn't know what the CIA even was, I just thought it had something to do with secret spies, and that sounded cool at the time.

When my mom and Phil came home, they both had grave looks on their faces. They sat me down and told me that they were sorry. They told me we were moving to LA. They told me that they had to take me out of regular school, and put me in a special school. They told me they were sorry, but it had to be done. And they told me that I couldn't tell anyone. I agreed easily, not knowing what I was getting into. I wish I had. Then none of this would have happened.

No. No. I take that back. I didn't mean that. I'm glad that happened. Because if it hadn't, I wouldn't have met my amazing friends that I have today. My family.

From then on, every day, I was sent to that same building. I was taken through multiple security centers, every day. But I easily got used to it. I had always been able to adapt easily, and I was a confident person. I was trained, and trained hard. By the time I was eight, I knew how to load a gun, and I knew how to fight. Not well, no, that would take time, but I knew the gist of it. They crammed information into my brain, I had never been challenged like that. Come to think of it, I had never been challenged at all. Maybe that's what made me so special. I knew I was different from other kids; I always knew I was smarter. That was easy to see. I was forced to grow up at the age of seven, forced to be a professional. Of course I made friends, although often, those friends would be taken out of the program because they weren't good enough, or their parents wanted them out.

When I was thirteen, there was a test. It was one of the biggest tests of my life. I had to put together a GP 35 handgun in 20 seconds, had to fight as hard as I could to knock my opponent out, and I had to literally write down everything, _everything, _in essay form, thatI could remember that I learned within the past six years. They literally told me, "Take that sheet of paper, and write down everything you know up to now." It took 16 hours to complete the test. But I did. And I passed. I passed with six other kids my age. Those kids became my family. When I went on missions, they were with me. When I went to meetings, they were with me. When I trained, they were with me. We made up the Project Christmas Team, PCT for short. These were my people. We each had our own thing, the thing we were best at. Me, I am best at being a field agent. I can disguise easily, I can think fast, I can make a quick getaway, I'm a good fighter, and I have a high-kick that could send you into a coma. This is the same with Michael. Michael is also a field agent, and we are almost always partners while in the field. Alex is a different story. She's field rated, but her forte is retrieving information. If we have a prisoner, we send Alex in to get him to spill all. No one knows how she does it, but she makes it look effortless. All I know is that if you are in a room with her, and she doesn't like you, you better watch out. She's a beast. Karen. Oh Karen. Well, Karen is..Karen. I guess, if any of us had attended a regular high school, Karen would be the rich, bossy, head cheerleader who gets all the guys and everything she wants. But none of us do, so now, Karen is the rich, attention-craving CIA agent who can work wonders with a gun. You give her a target, she hits it, no questions asked. I once saw her fire at an enemy while doing a back-flip. A _back-flip. _Of course she hit him, but she got shit from our boss after that. I remember walking past his office while he was yelling at her, "DO YOU KNOW HOW DANGEROUS THAT IS??!! YOU COULD HAVE HIT ONE OF OUR MEN! COMPLETELY IRRESPONSIBLE!" I laughed for a while at that. Grace and I always gave her crap about being rich and stuff. God she hated that. Grace was my best friend. We just _got each other. _I could tell her anything. Everything. And she the same to me. We did everything together. Grace was basically just the all around agent. She could do everything, and well. She didn't really have a forte, but if you needed her to do something, she could do it. Gary is hilarious, he is the comedian of the group. Gary is also kind of an all around agent like Grace – I always told them they were meant to be together. They hated that. And Mark. You have to love Mark. Mark is the tech guy of our team, he invents all the little gadgets we use, you know the cell phones that can decode passwords, etc. He has a tendency to babble on, but it's funny. Mark is just Mark like that.

I remember the day they gave me my Central Intelligence Agency ID. I was so proud. So were my parents. But, I also remember, that they were a sad proud. I didn't understand that then. I do now.

Because, after I received my ID, I was no longer a child in training. I was a CIA agent. Of course, I was still a part of Project Christmas, but I was also a trained agent. I was a field rated, CIA agent. Of course there was still much training. I was trained in torture. _God _that was hell. But I forced myself to get through it. Probably the hardest thing of my life. Nope, second hardest. My teacher gave me a secret. She told me, "Simba is the circle of life," something totally random that she made up. She also told me that no matter what, I was not to tell that to the people in the next room. They put me through electrocution, needles of fire, beatings, arm twisting, water submersion, and many more forms of torture, telling me that if I told them the secret, they would stop. The pain was excruciating. I will never know how I survived that day. But man, I wanted to rip their heads off. The men who were torturing me. They had this evil smirk on their faces, and everything about them reeked "evil, nasty, selfish, ruthless, bastards." If I wasn't chained to the chair and had a gun, those men, who are actually my coworkers, would be dead. However, at the time, I didn't care if they were my coworkers just trying to toughen me up. To me, in my worn and raged state of mind, they were the enemy.

But I never caved. I never told them. By the time I was too weak to even move, they wiped the evil sneers off of their faces, and they grinned from ear to ear. They unchained me, told me that I did amazingly, and that I was one of the best agents they had ever seen. Then someone escorted me to the doctor, where I rested for a few days.

I was still living with my parents during all of this. Every day, my mother seemed more and more anxious and worn, and I kept having to remind her that I was fine. I had always been a tough child, I never showed weakness. I hated being babied or taken care of. When she came to see me in the medical center of the CIA office, she was in hysterics, and was screaming at anyone who would listen. She told them that she was taking me out of the program, and that no one could stop her. I remember her talking to my boss, yes when I was thirteen I had a _boss_, and he calmed her down enough to have a rational conversation at my bedside. I jumped in as often as I could, telling her that it looked a thousand times worse than it felt, and eventually, miraculously, she was convinced that I needed to stay in the program.

Now, of course, everything that was happening to me should be illegal. Yeah, not so much. Project Christmas was a black-ops operation, and black-ops regulations are completely different from regular CIA standards. Basically, the CIA tells the black-ops office to get something done, and they don't care how they do it. No questions asked. So it is not illegal. And I don't regret going through it. It has made me who I am today.

By the time I was fifteen, I was being sent out on missions with my team. We were trying to take down this terrorist band called the Alliance. They had cells all over the world; there was even one in LA. It was called SD-6. For obvious reasons, this is the cell that we tried to infiltrate the most. Dixon (the head of the LA office, and my boss,) always had Mark working on a virus that could infiltrate the SD-6 system and lead us to the Alliance headquarters. But they had a well organized security system that was just as hard to hack into as the CIA system was. We have yet to get through. For two years, I was sent out on field missions to retrieve information, capture enemies, retrieve weapons, to stop our enemy from gaining something that would be beneficial to them, and rescue missions.

I see people die all the time. I had seen some of the best agents I had ever known die. But as an agent, I am trained to be able to compartmentalize my emotions, therefore being able to hide emotions when needed, and being able to deal with trauma. So yeah, there were things that made me angry, sad, shocked, and sometimes scared. But I pulled through. It's what we do. We pull through.

But I can't pull through anymore.

_Coward, _I thought to myself.

No, I refuse to believe I am a coward. I'm NOT a coward. I'm human.


End file.
